Chapter 22
“C ome on, Ash. That’s weak as hell. You can do better.”
I growl out a slew of curses as I pull on the resistance band, working on rebuilding the strength in my arm and shoulder. “I hate you,” I snarl.
“You’ll love me in November.”
“Fuck November. Tell me October.”
“If you want October, I need to see more sweat.”
More sweat? The woman wants more of my sweat? Any more and I’m going to pass out from dehydration. Sara is one of the two sadists I’ve hired to help me rehab, but considering this is my first major injury, I had no clue what I was in for.
“I can’t do it.”
I release the band and fall back on the bench when my shoulder feels like it’s about to give out.
My good arm falls over my eyes, and I die just a little.
I’m in pain. Like serious fucking pain. It’s also the good kind of pain that you feel when something is healing and you’re working it hard, but still.
“Come on, pussy. My wife lifts more than you do.”
Sara drops herself on my lap and smacks my abs, making me flinch and wince. “I hate you.”
“So you keep saying. Come on, Ash. Sit up. Give me five more reps, and then you can call it quits. Until tomorrow, of course.”
With a toddler-quality pout and moan, I sit up and take the band from her hands.
“I get a drink after this.”
She nods. “Sure. A sports or protein one.”
“Have I mentioned I hate you?”
“Only fifteen times today, which I consider an improvement from last week. Five more. Let’s do it.”
Five more. I can do five more. And then I’m going to fill a bathtub with ice and drop myself into it. And then, after that, I’m going to take the longest shower of my life. And then after that, I’m going to be too tired to do anything other than eat and snuggle with my girl and my baby.
Shit. I hope Wynter isn’t looking for sex tonight because I’m not sure I’ll have any stamina left in me. I told her I’d give it to her sweet after giving it to her so rough this morning, but I’m not sure I can move.
“You’re ruining my sex life,” I tell her.
Sara rolls her eyes. “You’re supposed to be a professional athlete.
Man up and give your woman the orgasms I’m positive she deserves for putting up with you.
We grow bored if you don’t, though, for the life of me, I can’t imagine why my fairer sex turns to your lesser breed for anything, including sex. ”
“I’m not sure how to comment on that.”
She gives me an annoyed look because she knows I’m stalling. “Then don’t. Go!”
“Argh! Okay.” I start to stretch the band outward across my chest, moving my shoulders back and my elbows out to my sides. And FUCK! It hurts worse than it did five minutes ago.
“Yes, Ash. More. Give me more.”
A groan tears from my throat. “Fuck, Sara. Jesus.”
I’m dying. I am. The band retracts, and then I do it two more times. Each time pushing myself a little farther than the last.
“Yes.” Sara’s voice climbs with excitement as she bounces on my lower thighs. “There. That’s it. More, more, more. Don’t stop,” she encourages.
“Fuck! Yes!” After the fifth one, the band snaps from my hand, and I fall back once again.
“You did it!”
“I did it. Someone lead me to the ice.”
A strange noise jolts me upright and has Sara’s head turning over her shoulder as she stands. “What was that? It sounded like—”
“A cry.”
Her brows furrow. “Yeah. I was thinking that, but it didn’t make sense—”
Her words are sharply cut off a second time by the slamming of my front door. Automatically, I’m on my feet. “Fuck. What time is it?”
I look down at my Apple Watch. It’s already after five. How did that happen? That must have been Wynter, but why did it sound like she was crying, and why did she come home only to immediately leave?
Something must have happened.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Sara.” I fly out of my gym and into the hallway, but I’m too late to catch the elevator, even as I slam my fist into the button.
I race back inside, searching for a T-shirt and sneakers.
I dial up Wynter’s phone, but it rings and rings only to go to voicemail.
Same thing when I call the second and third time.
Then I start with the texts that also go unanswered.
By the time I make it to my car and pull out onto the street, I’m worried out of my mind about Mason and call her mother.
“He’s fine. I have him for the night,” her mother tells me.
“For the night?”
“Yes,” she says, her voice catching a bit on the end in surprise by my tone. This is all news to me. “Didn’t she tell you?”
“No,” I start to say, only to pause when I reach the traffic light and scroll through my texts from her. “Yes. She did, only I didn’t see her text until now. She said she wanted to talk, but then she ran out, and I don’t know why.”
“If she’s anywhere, she’s on the ice. You’ll be able to find her there. And Asher, what she wanted to talk to you about?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s about your coach.”
“Her father.”
“Her father,” she echoes. “He did a real number on her. Be gentle.”
My fists clench the steering wheel so hard the leather creaks. “I will.”
She disconnects the call, and a moment later, a text pings in with the address of the rink.
But her mother’s words reverberate through my skull.
He did a real number on her. And I had Sara on my lap.
Not that it was the least bit sexual, but if Wynter walked in and saw Sara like that… it would be easy to misinterpret.
Is that what happened? Is that what caused her to run?
Is her trust truly that thin?
I know the answer. I’ve known it for weeks. Now I have to figure out a way to change that.
I arrive at the rink and discover that her car is the only one there. That instantly drives me crazy. Does she have any clue how vulnerable that makes her? This is where she had to go?
But it’s more than that, and it’s more than her being alone in this building.
It’s Joe. I need to learn once and for all just what he did to her before I seek him out and ruin his life for ruining hers.
I enter the dark building, past the spectator area, and over to the glowing ice, illuminated by a few soft bulbs overhead.
Wynter is aimlessly gliding around the ice, staring down at her phone.
I watch her for a moment, her face splotchy and her eyes red-rimmed.
Has it not reached her giant brain yet that I fucking love her and would never, could never hurt her?
I step onto the ice, walking carefully in her direction when she catches sight of me and drops her phone. The phone cracks immediately, the glass splintering. But her eyes never leave mine.
“What are you doing here?”
I don’t stop until my good hand dives into her hair and my bad one does its best to wrap around her waist, and then I’m pulling her into my body and slamming my lips down on hers.
I kiss her deeply, her head angled, her back arched, her body knitted against mine.
My tongue sweeps against hers, claiming, possessing, telling her with unequivocal certainty that I am hers and no one else’s.
She kisses me back, which feels like a miracle, and then after a few minutes, I pull back and hold her face in the palm of my hand. “You ran. So I did what I always do with you. I chased.”
Her head tilts up toward the rafter-exposed ceiling, her eyes glassing over. “You weren’t having sex with that woman.”
Somehow it doesn’t come out as a question, though I answer her all the same. “No.”
She gulps and nods. “I knew it. I mean, I didn’t know it. It took me longer than it should have to realize that. I saw her on your lap. Both of you half-naked. She was bouncing. I heard you. I heard her. And my brain short-circuited.”
“Sara is one of my trainers. It was groans of pain and overworked muscles. Trust me, it was awful and not the least bit pleasurable.”
Another nod. “I overreacted, and I ran, but… part of me knew that whatever I was seeing wasn’t what was actually happening. It just took me a bit to grasp that because it didn’t look good. And I think I’m…”
“You think you’re what?”
She shakes her head, refusing to answer.
“Sara’s married to a woman, and they have three boys together—which I secretly love because they torture and abuse her the way she tortures and abuses me.”
A shaky laugh. “I’m sorry I ran.”
“Look at me, Wynter.” I force her stormy green gaze to mine. “Don’t apologize for running and don’t apologize for caring enough about me to be hurt and upset. I’ll continue chasing because you’re worth catching.”
I want to tell her. I want to look into her eyes and tell her that I think I’m in love with her. That I think I’ve been in love with her since she walked into the bathroom of a club and smiled at me.
Except I can’t force the words out.
I’ve never said them to a woman before, and once I do, once I set them free and they become hers, there is no more trying. There is no more attempting to see where this goes. I’ll need her more than I already do, and that will scare her. It’s too much too soon, and too far too fast.
So instead, I seal my lips and I leave it at that.
Her body leans into mine, her hand climbing up my back and into my hair. I press my forehead to hers, and she emits a soft sigh that turns into a gentle hum.
“What I was going to say before is, I think I’m pretty messed up. I have a serious fear of abandonment along with some massive, preconceived notions that I’ll be cheated on. I don’t think all men are evil, but I don’t trust them either.”
“Will you explain why to me?”
“Here?” She laughs the word and then pulls back, looking around at the abandoned ice rink surrounding us.
“Yes. I can’t tell you how sore I am, and the cold air feels amazing. I’m honestly contemplating lying down on the ice and watching you skate. You ran out before I could take an ice bath or even a shower after. I’m positive I don’t smell very good right now.”
She smiles up at me. “You actually smell pretty good. Even your sweat is sweet.” She kisses my neck. “You lie down on the ice, and I’ll skate and talk.”